The Art of Becoming Zechs Marquis
by Ryoko no Shinigami
Summary: Have you ever looked at that thirty-second clip showing the young Milliardo Peacecraft and wondered what could have made such a sweet-though-passionate youth into... sexy-but-kinda-weird-Zechs Marquis? Well, I have, and this is what I came up with. Even
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1: Blue Eyes  
  
The fires raged through the corridors of the palace, turning everything to ash and smoke. The bottom edge of an ancient tapestry depicting a maiden slowly began to char, before the entire thing was quickly consumed. Glass shattered as the huge windows exploded outwards, sending shards flying, glittering in the flame light like stars. The black night closed in as a roof collapsed, sending up clouds of sparks.  
  
The picture of the burning palace was reflected in duplicate in the light blue eyes of a small boy, hiding in the undergrowth of a copse of trees. The slope of the hill gave him the perfect view to watch his home go up in smoke. Unshed tears glinted in his eyes, as he watched his whole life burning.  
  
Just two days ago it had been so different. Sun glinted off the blue tiles that roofed the white-walled palace. Milliardo stared at them as he walked out to the stables, the dew collecting on his black boots. His mother always said the roofs were the color of his eyes, and that was how she knew her son was meant to grow up to lead the Sanc Kingdom.  
  
But today, he was just a normal boy, full of energy and life. He saddled his little gray pony, and trotted off into the wood, ready for a day of adventure. He walked his pony through the cedar forest behind the palace, wincing as a cold drop of water fell from above and hit him on his blond head.  
  
Suddenly, the trees before him thinned, opening to a sunny, grassy meadow. A grin broke out on his face as he kicked his pony into a gallop, and he leaned low over his steed's neck as they flew, feet never seeming to touch the ground.  
  
The meadow was broad, and both boy and pony were tired and gasping for breath by the time they reached the cedar trees on the other side. Milliardo dismounted and led his pony down the narrower path until they came to a small stream. The pony stuck his nose into the water immediately, drinking in deep, slurping gulps. The boy fell to his knees upstream, and, dipping his palms into the water, brought handfuls of cool clear water to his lips. When he finished, he brought his arm up and wiped his face with his sleeve, heedless of the soft spill of lace at his cuff.  
  
They walked for a long time through the woods, exploring, and eventually found the edge of the stream again, and followed it, the boy leading his pony, sometimes using the beast for support on a slippery slope, both indulging in the solitude. They walked till the sun was high in the sky, and both were sweating, even though the forest was cool and green.  
  
The sound of the stream was with them, burbling along happily by their feet. But eventually, the sound changed, echoing. Milliardo looked up, wondering at the difference. He saw that the stream disappeared into darkness, flowing from an opening in the steep bank that rose up before him.  
  
After unsaddling his pony, the boy tied the reins to the low branch of a tree, where the beast started grazing at a small patch of grass that managed to grow in the sun that worked it's way through the trees. Milliardo stepped down into the shallow stream and peered into the dark opening, pushing aside the overhanging roots and ferns.  
  
The dripping of water echoed from the hole, speaking of unseen size. Walking quickly back to where he had left the pony, Milliardo rifled through the saddle bags for the candles and matches he always packed there for emergencies. He grabbed one, and slipped another into his pocket. Back in front of what he was sure was a pirate's cave, he lit the candle in his hand. He put the candle through the opening first, as far as he could reach his arm in. He counted slowly to ten. When the candle didn't go out, he stooped through the opening, assured that the air was good.  
  
The ceiling was low for the first ten feet or so, and Milliardo had to stoop, walking through the shallow water. But it quickly opened out, with soft dirt banks on either side. Milliardo stepped out of the stream, and stood, looking about him for the first time.  
  
On his left, the wall was close, and reflected the light of his candle in shimmering wetness. But on the right, and in front of him, the darkness stretched out beyond the tiny light, and Milliardo strained his eyes to see in the darkness.  
  
Milliardo was curious about how extensive the cave was. Digging his toe into the soft dirt, he made a long furrow in the ground, dark and easily seen, even in the candle light. Then he put the palm of his left hand on the damp wall, and began to walk, counting his paces.  
  
When he had gone forty paces, the ceiling dipped down again, forming an alcove too small for him to walk into, where the stream disappeared. He stepped over the water, found the wall again and continued walking and counting. The bank on this side was wider, and sandy. After thirty more paces, he came again to the entrance. He jumped once more over the stream, and there was his mark, clear in the dirt.  
  
So. The cave was about seventy paces around, say a hundred and eighty feet, and shaped approximately like a tear drop, with the alcove at the rounded end and the entrance at the point. The ceiling was, in most places, out of the reach of his hand when he felt above his head with his fingertips, and where he could touch it, it was stone. It was a small boy's dream.  
  
But this small boy had to be back in time for dinner. Milliardo wondered with a start how long he had been standing there, head full of games and fun that could be had. He hurried out of the cave, to where his pony was dozing in the sunshine. By the shadows, Milliardo could see that it was about three o'clock. It had taken him hours to get here, but then, he had been exploring in the woods for a long time before he had found the cave. He thought he'd have plenty of time to get back and cleaned up before the bell rang for dinner at six. He re-saddled his pony, and began the trek back to the palace.  
  
In less than an hour he came again to the grassy field. The light slanted through the trees that surrounded it, striping the air with beams of light and shadow. A few lazy bees droned from flower to flower, and everything was the picture of quiet peace.  
  
Suddenly, a dull roaring behind him made Milliardo turn in the saddle, shocked out of his quiet reverie. He gasped in shock as four Leo mobile suits, flying in tight formation, cut a swath of black across the sky. They flew through the air, diagonal through the clear sky. Milliardo had never seen mobile suits this close before. His father had strictly forbidden them to fly in Sanc Kingdom airspace, thinking that they promoted nothing but the evil of war. Strange, then, that these should be seen so close to the palace. Milliardo watched where they flew, and for a moment thought they would head for the palace itself. But their course swung wide, soon leaving nothing but the faint smell of smoke in the air. Milliardo was both frightened and fascinated by the noisy machines, and wondered who would dare break his father's orders, and why. He put the questions out of his mind, but determined to speak of it with his father when he got home.  
  
His arrival caused no stir, and he put his pony back in the stable, took off his tack and brushed him without being noticed by the grooms or stable men. He was even able to get up to his suite and take a bath and change from his muddy clothes to his dinner attire before the brass gong in the dining hall was rung. And when he rushed downstairs, he found he needn't have hurried at all. A thin, blonde woman sat near one end of the long dining table, alone. There was only one other place set. The woman looked up as Milliardo walked in.  
  
"Hello, sweetheart. We'll be dining alone this evening. Do come and sit down."  
  
Zechs always thought his mother looked so elegant at the table, with her long, white arms and hands. She handled the dishes deftly, careful not to make a single one clatter or rattle. In her blue silk dinner gown, her honey hair on top of her head, the Lady Peacecraft was every inch a Queen.  
  
"Your father so busy, he's having his dinner brought to him in his study. He's been working so hard with the L4 negotiations, having so much trouble coming to any agreement about anything. You're sister's off with her nanny, they went to the zoological gardens today and they haven't come back yet…"  
  
Milliardo listened with half an ear to his mother's talk while he ate his food. He was a young boy who had been out adventuring all day, and like any young boy in his position, he ate so fast it's questionable he even tasted his food. At least, he ate as fast as it is possible to while still adhering to formal dinner rules, with china plates and crystal goblets.  
  
He was halfway done with his meal when a maid entered the dining hall. She bobbed a curtsey to Lady Peacecraft before she turned to Milliardo. "The Master wishes to see you in his study, sir."  
  
Milliardo felt the small stirrings of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. Not because he had just been addressed as a superior by a woman at least twice his age. It had been so for as long as he could remember, he had long since gotten used to it. But it was rare that his father called him into his private study, and rarer still that it was for anything good. The younger and older Peacecraft males were far from close, and the elder took every opportunity to find fault in his offspring.  
  
But Milliardo had no choice, so he went.  
  
When he reached the huge oak doors that led to his father's study, he raised his hand and knocked. He winced; the knock seemed to him to sound small, weak, and afraid. The knock of an underling on his master's door, not the knock of a future monarch.  
  
"Enter," came the deep reply.  
  
So Milliardo stepped in, feet noiseless on the thick carpeting.  
  
"Shut the door behind you."  
  
When Milliardo had complied, he stood waiting. The man behind the desk didn't look up from his papers except to dip his quill into the inkwell.  
  
Milliardo seethed with irritation. This was the typical beginning of any meeting with his father. The elder Peacecraft liked to be in total control of everybody, especially his son. And so he made Milliardo wait, fidgeting and scared, before he even spared him so much as a glance. Milliardo understood the reasoning behind this. Nothing his father could have said would possibly have made him as nervous as the scenarios running through his own mind. But because he understood his father's actions, he was able to outmaneuver them. He emptied his mind totally, completely. No awful situations entered, and he stood still, staring into the middle distance.  
  
At last, Lord Peacecraft looked up from his papers. He carefully replaced his pen in the inkwell, and rose to stand beside his desk. And so it begins, Milliardo thought.  
  
"The maids tell me the clothing you wore this morning returned muddy," Lord Peacecraft said. "And the grooms say that you spent half an hour brushing your pony when you returned home. You were out traipsing through the woods again."  
  
Milliardo said nothing.  
  
"Weren't you?"  
  
"Yes, father."  
  
"You are still incapable of taking care of your clothing, and yet you are going to take over the kingdom?"  
  
Somehow, it always came to this. The ruler expected perfection in his son. When he didn't get it, it always came down to Milliardo's supposed stupidity and incompetence. Milliardo could feel his face becoming red, and a scowl settling onto his features.  
  
"Don't you look at me that way, stupid boy. If you can't even act like a young lord now, how do you expect to be able to rule?"  
  
"Father, I…"  
  
"Don't interrupt me, boy! You go off in the mornings, stay away till late afternoon, and come back with your clothes ruined, your pony muddy, when you should be staying here and learning how to run a kingdom."  
  
Milliardo felt tears pooling in his eyes. "Professor says I'm doing very well at my lessons…"  
  
"And look at you now, crying like a little baby. Such a weak brat. Disgusting."  
  
Always before, Milliardo would have taken the abuse, then left to cry on his own. But today was different. Today, he couldn't take any more.  
  
"I am NOT WEAK!" he screamed at his father. "You don't know anything about me! All you care about is your stupid kingdom!"  
  
Lord Peacecraft was turning red in the face. "You hold your tongue, you little fag, or I'll…"  
  
"Or you'll what? What will you do, father? You're the weak one, you…"  
  
Neither of them heard the door opening behind them. Lord Peacecraft advanced on his son, pulling back one powerful fist as he did so. Then he brought his arm down, crashing into the boy in front of him. Milliardo had no chance to duck, or block. The blow hit him full force across the face, and he fell hard to the carpet, dazed.  
  
He felt somebody tugging at him, pulling, and he stumbled to his feet. Before he knew it, he was out the door, being led down the hall, half dragged, half carried. He was almost outside by the time he wondered to look at his would-be savior.  
  
"Treize…"  
  
"Shh, don't talk."  
  
Trieze, two years older at thirteen and several inches taller than Milliardo, bore the smaller boy's weight with little difficulty. Milliardo consented to being led, but his head was fuzzy and his knees were weak. He stumbled suddenly, and fell to the wooden floor.  
  
When he looked up, it was to see his father. The breath caught in his throat, but his father didn't move. He shook his head and his vision cleared, and he saw he was staring at a portrait, not the man.  
  
The artist had chosen to portray the King in a pose that reminded one of ancient religious icons. With his long hair and upturned eyes, Lord Peacecraft looked like a blond haired vision of Christ.  
  
"He never looks like that when I'm around." The tears formed again in his eyes.  
  
Milliardo felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Treize standing over him.  
  
"Come on, let's go outside. We can walk in the gardens, the fresh air will do you good. You can tell me all about it."  
  
They passed no one else in the halls, which was a relief. Milliardo didn't want any of the servants to see him crying.  
  
And he was crying. He tried to hold the tears back as best he could until they were alone, but still a few renegade drops traced down his cheeks. When they were outside, Treize led him to a remote fountain, enclosed on all sides by a high rose hedge. Milliardo practically collapsed onto the side of the fountain. He buried his face in his hands and began to cry in earnest, hot, bitter tears falling freely from his eyes. Treize sat beside him and stroked his hair, silent yet comforting. When Milliardo had cried himself dry, he curled up, leaning against his friend, unable to support himself any more.  
  
"Are you ready to tell me what this was all about?" Treize whispered.  
  
Milliardo sniffed and tried to wipe at his face with his hands. Instead of wiping off the tears, he only managed to smear them across his cheeks. Treize smiled at him ruefully and reached out for Milliardo's wrist. Firmly, he set Milliardo's hands back into his lap, before reaching into the water behind him with cupped hands.  
  
"Put your head down over the water."  
  
Milliardo complied, and Treize scooped water up in his hands and sprinkled it gently over his face, and the bruise already darkening his cheek. The water cooled Milliardo's flushed face, and he sighed in contentment.  
  
Treize helped him sit back up, and tenderly smoothed the wet tendrils of hair back from his face. Milliardo peered up at him through his lashes, a smile beginning to play at his lips. But suddenly, his face darkened. The worry and pain came back to his eyes, and he ducked his head, pulling away from Treize.  
  
"Milliardo?"  
  
"Treize…. I… Something my father said, back there. Something he called me…"  
  
"What? What is it?"  
  
"He… He called me… 'Fag'. You know, that word, it means…" the tears were coming again, but he choked them back fiercely. A scared shaking started in his hands. "I think he knows. He must know. Why else would he…"  
  
"Ssh. Don't be silly. He can't know. If he knew, do you really think he'd let me take you away, would even let me be alone with you?" when the trembling in Milliardo's hands did not subside, he sighed and tried again. "Mill, people like your father never really suspect things like that. They joke about it, laugh about it, try to make you feel bad about it, but they never actually think that there are people like that. People that are… homosexual…" he cleared his throat.  
  
Milliardo glanced up. "You really think so?"  
  
Treize smiled, relieved. "Of course." He stood up and held out a hand to Milliardo, who accepted it. Treize pulled him into a quick embrace, but it was brief, and afterwards they both searched over their shoulders, suddenly frightened of prying eyes and ears. Treize sighed. "We've really got to find a place of our own."  
  
Milliardo's eyes suddenly lit up with repressed excitement. "Treize… I've got something to tell you… I found something today, while I was out riding. You know that stream that runs about a mile and a half through the east woods?" Treize nodded. "Well, I found where it comes from. It's a cave, small, hidden. It's perfect. We could go there, and no one could ever find us…" his voice died out and he blushed suddenly.  
  
Treize raised an elegant eyebrow as he considered. "Sounds… good…"  
  
"Come on, I'll show you…"  
  
Treize laughed. "Wait, Mill, it's seven o'clock. It'll be dark soon. Wait until tomorrow. I'll come by early, we can have the whole day to ourselves… Maybe after we've tried it out, we could bring Lu there, too."  
  
"It's big enough," Milliardo nodded. He plunked himself back onto the stone fountain. "What'd you want to do till then?"  
  
"Well, I came to see if you'd do some fencing practice with me…"  
  
Milliardo's eyes lit up. "Yeah! I bet Pagan's still in the training room, he'd let us, I'm sure!"  
  
"Well, come on, then, slowpoke!" and so saying, Treize took off through the gardens. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: To Cry  
  
The next day dawned like the one before it, perfect and blue, air crisp with springtime.  
  
Once again, the blond boy, slim and smallish for his age, ran down the worn palace steps towards the stables.  
  
The taller boy waited for him there, holding the reins of both the gray pony and a larger bay mount, standing on the dusty ground, impatience loud in every line of his figure.  
  
"Mill," he started, "I told you I'd be here at eight. What took you so long?"  
  
The boy stopped, gasping for breath. "Father started in on me again this morning. I couldn't get away till just now." He threw himself into the saddle almost with violence, snatching the reins that Treize tossed for him to catch. He set his heels to his mount's sides before his partner was even in the saddle, and had hit a full gallop by the time he passed the outer gates. The other boy cursed softly and scrambled to catch up with him. The longer legs of his horse overtook the other boy quickly.  
  
"Mill," Treize gasped, riding fast beside him, "slow down. You'll hurt your pony if you keep this up. Slow down!"  
  
It was with obvious reluctance that Milliardo reined in his pony, but to injure one's mount was an unforgivable offense in the Peacecraft household. The thought made the tears that had already threatened to fall spill in a river over his cheeks. Treize made a wordless sound of worry and sympathy, and reached over the space between them to lay a hand lightly on Milliardo's shoulder.  
  
"What happened this time?" he murmured, though he obviously already knew at least part of the answer.  
  
"M-My father, he expects so much of me, and he's so cruel!" The other boy gave a small, broken sob that made Treize's heart clench in his chest and wish, just for a moment, that he could have Lord Peacecraft's head on a platter. "I can never please him, he just expects so much of me! Just this morning, he gave me word that he's sending me away, to boarding school in Austria at the end of the month. 'To make a man of you,' he said. Treize, I don't know if I can bear it any more, and to be sent away like that, for months, without any forewarning, and I'm just expected to take it without saying anything…" another sob ripped through him, sounding practically painful as it shook his thin body.  
  
"Ssh…" Treize soothed, as he let his hand rub his comrade's back, guiding his horse with one hand. The news that he was soon to lose his best friend shocked him, too, though he pushed the pain to the back of his mind in favor of being comforting.  
  
Milliardo's head snapped up, and when he spoke again, it was with sudden fierceness. "I won't let him ruin today, though. This will be a special day, just you and me." He looked over at Treize, hope in his eyes, begging Treize to go along with it, just this one more time, for both of them to obsessively not-worry about what they both knew was waiting for him when they returned. Treize relented, as he always had.  
  
"All right. Just you and me, all day."  
  
Milliardo grinned his gratitude, before his face took on a mischievous look. "In that case, can I try your horse? You know, in celebration and all…"  
  
Treize relented again, as a sign of well-meaning. It was a real point of contention between Lord Peacecraft and his son. The father insisted that until his son proved himself worthy 'as a man', as he put it, that he should ride nothing but the pony that would otherwise be reserved for the baby Relena and visiting diplomat's young daughters. Personally, Treize thought it was just another way the Lord kept his iron control over his son, and an especially cruel one in the horse-obsessed and status- conscious Sanc Kingdom. Still, it was rare that he would turn his prized mount, a gift from his own father for turning twelve, over even to Milliardo's trusted hands. But today, he wanted to put Mill into an especially good mood, so he gave in and mounted Mill's gray pony, after lengthening the stirrup leathers as far as they would go, to accommodate for his greater height.  
  
"Want to race?" he suggested as they came to the broad field, still bearing the signs of the headlong dash of yesterday. He barely had time to see Milliardo's nod of approval before he set heels to the sides of his pony, and began a careening gallop. For all his talk of equestrian safety, Treize shared Milliardo's wild side when it came to speed and riding, and he determined to give his friend a run for his money, despite riding a shorter-legged and lesser-winded mount.  
  
Treize, being older, was the slightly better rider, and the horses were neck-and-neck for a good fifty paces, before the bay began to pull away. It must have been the drunkenness of speed that made Treize lean over this mount's withers and brush the rump of the bay with his crop. Milliardo had, after all, played exactly the same trick on him the last time they rode like this, when he had started badly and it looked like the pony might beat the bigger bay for once. But Treize failed to take into account the extra skittishness of a fine-blooded, sensitive animal. A touch that a lifelong child's mount had borne with little more than a snort sent the high-strung bay careening sideways, dancing fast on flashing feet. His shrill, frightened neigh broke the silence as he began leaping in wild attempts to get away from the perceived threat.  
  
To his credit, Milliardo did not panic, simply kept his seat deep in the saddle, took the reins firmly in hand and worked to bring down the rearing animal. By the time he had the bay quiet, both boy and horse were shivering and sweating, the horse panting, head down. Treize sat the pony in something like shock, never so close to seeing a severe accident in his life.  
  
"I say… Well rode," was the first thing that he managed to force out of his suddenly dry mouth. Mentally, he kicked himself. Stupid, stupid…  
  
But when Milliardo looked up, it was with a face more alive and vibrant than it had been all day. "I say…" he breathed softly. "That was a ride."  
  
He began to laugh then, almost hysterically. The nervous bay spooked slightly, and Milliardo quickly silenced himself and quieted him. He looked at Treize, blue eyes still sparking. "I handled that well, didn't I?" he breathed.  
  
Treize was off his mount in a flash, steadying his friend's stirrup as he dismounted. As soon as Milliardo's feet were safely on the ground, he swept him off them again, capturing him in a rib-cracking hug.  
  
"T-Treize…" Milliardo gasped as the breath was driven out of him.  
  
"If ever I am annoyed at you again," Treize panted, "just remind me of this, and of what a senseless idiot I am."  
  
Milliardo pulled back from him, slightly, and kissed him lightly on the cheek, standing on tiptoe to do it. "Never mind, Treize. It's over. I forgive you."  
  
Treize allowed his face to relax into a smile as he reached up with one hand to brush back an errant strand of white-blond hair. But his face hardened into a scowl suddenly, and Milliardo gasped as the arm around his waist tightened angrily. Treize was staring, furious, at a livid blue- black bruise that darkened on Milliardo's temple, just a sliver of it visible before it disappeared into the hairline. There was no question how it had gotten there.  
  
"That bastard…" Treize spat, voice trembling with rage.  
  
Milliardo squirmed and gasped in Treize's grip. "Treize, let me go, forget it, Treize, please, you're hurting me…" He managed to escape from Treize's hold, and turned away, keeping his back towards his friend. "Just forget about it."  
  
Treize grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "This has to stop, Mill, there has to be a limit on how much I can forget…" Then he stopped, and, noticing Milliardo's grimace of real pain, released his grip on the smaller boy's shoulder as though he had been burned. Fear, shock, and anger warred for dominance on his face as he spoke.  
  
"What did he do to you, Milliardo? How many more bruises are you hiding from me? On your face, your shoulder, where else? How much of this can you possibly ask me to forget? And don't tell me any stories about doors or careless maids, that hasn't worked since we were young, and you know it."  
  
"It's not important Treize, it really isn't, we both know he's a bastard, he just gets angry at me sometimes…"  
  
Treize shook his head in stern negation. "This isn't just being a bastard, Mill, and this isn't just getting angry sometimes. He's hurting you, Mill. I don't understand why you keep making excuses for him…" He cut off when he realized Milliardo's face had hardened, and his gaze was steely.  
  
"I do it because he's my father, and there's nothing else I can do," he said. "And we both promised we wouldn't let him ruin this day. Our day. I'm not going to fight with you about this," he snapped, making a chopping gesture with his hand as Treize opened his mouth to argue. "Today, we're just going to pretend that everything's fine, I love my father and he loves me, and I get to go back to something more than fighting and pain once I go home. We're going to be together for the next couple hours, maybe for the last time before I'm sent away for months, and if you want to argue about my family life with me, you'll have to do it later." And with that, he remounted the bay, and rode off at a sedate walk. What could Treize do? He followed him, silent and wondering. That was Milliardo, he mused. Almost frighteningly quick to anger, like his father, though without his father's absurd rages and astonishing cruelty. And as quick as he angered, he forgot. Or forced himself to forget. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: To Love  
  
1 "How much further?"  
  
"Just a little bit. There, see? It's right there in the bank."  
  
Treize peered at the opening. "It looks awfully small."  
  
"Foolish, let me push aside the weeds. There's plenty of room to get in. Help me unsaddle your horse, you've got the girth so tight…"  
  
When they had finished unsaddling their horses and tying them near the small patches of grass that managed to grow even in the forest, Milliardo jumped into the streambed and pulled aside the long ferns covering the entrance.  
  
The cave was everything Treize could ever have asked it to be. Hidden and cool, easily accessible for two boys, but unlikely to be found by anyone else. Even the usually down-to-earth boy had images of countless hours of dreams behind his eyes as he stared at the hidden entrance that Milliardo revealed by sweeping back the long cover of ferns.  
  
"This… This is amazing," he breathed in awe.  
  
Milliardo smirked. "Told you. Grab a few candles so we can go in, quick."  
  
Treize complied wordlessly, filling his pockets with candles and waterproof matches before he scrambled over the muddy banks to Milliardo's side. He gestured for the other boy to go in first after he lit one candle by striking a match on a nearby rock. He had to bend almost double to avoid knocking his head on the low roof. Milliardo's muffled voice came from in front of him.  
  
"It's a little low for the first bit here, but it opens up after a while. I couldn't touch the roof with my hands when I was here yesterday… Here we go."  
  
The light dimmed as it stopped reflecting off close, confining walls when Treize straightened in the cave proper. The yellow candle flame glinted off rocks that glistened with wet. Milliardo grabbed Treize's free hand in his, and led him over the stream, now only a trickle so close to it's source, to the wide soft sand on the opposite bank. There he spread the blanket he had tucked under his arm. Leaning over, he dripped wax from the candle he held onto a mostly flat rock, forming a small sconce to hold it.  
  
"Give me the ones from your pockets," he demanded of Treize, holding out his hands. Treize obeyed, then sat on the blanket to watch Milliardo as he walked the perimeter of the cave, lighting candles from the one beside the blanket and sticking them wherever there was a flat space to hold them. By the time he had run out of candles, the whole cave was a study in bright yellow and bottomless black. He sat cross-legged on the blanket beside Treize, a satisfied smile on his face.  
  
"What do you think?" he asked, and his voice was soft and breathless.  
  
Treize didn't even look around him, his eyes were trained on Milliardo's beautiful face. "It's lovely, Mill."  
  
Milliardo smiled, then blushed as Treize shifted closer to him, brushing a kiss across his lips. His hand came up to rest on Treize's shoulder as the older boy ran his through Milliardo's long hair. They rarely dared to get so close before, fear of getting caught and told on stilling even Milliardo's raging emotions. If Lord Peacecraft ever found out… But Mill put that thought to the back of his mind, and concentrated on the kiss, sweet, soft, and not entirely innocent.  
  
Mill wasn't prepared when Treize's tongue swept across his lips, and he parted them without thinking about it at all. Any trepidation he might have felt was banished by the sensation, totally new and unexpected, exhilarating. But a sudden thought made him break the kiss, turning his face away.  
  
"I… I'm not really sure how to do this…" Milliardo stammered, suddenly shy and unsure of himself.  
  
"Then ssh. Just let it happen." Treize cupped his hand under Milliardo's chin, and turned his head so that they faced one another again. Then he leaned forward, slowly, hesitantly, until their lips met.  
  
They brushed together, light as the touch of a moth's wing. It was electrifying. Milliardo pulled back, his eyes full of surprise. With a bemused smile, he touched his lips with a trembling hand.  
  
"That was… That was…"  
  
Treize chuckled lowly. "I know." He leaned forward, suddenly, pressing against Milliardo. Surprised, Milliardo's mouth flew open, and Treize pushed the advantage.  
  
When they broke the kiss, Milliardo was panting softly. Treize stayed close, his face mere inches from Milliardo's, so his cool breath brushed the smaller boy's cheek. He lifted his hand to the buttons on Milliardo's soft blue shirt…  
  
Milliardo caught at his wrist, his eyes searching Treize's wide with wonder.  
  
"Treize, what…"  
  
Treize stilled his questions with another soft kiss. "Ssh. It's alright."  
  
It was strange, Treize mused, their relationship. Milliardo was the younger, wilder and far more prone to outbursts of emotion. Treize was the supposed leader, if for no other reason than he was older and generally simply expected his directions to be followed. But he found himself following Mill's orders as often as not, although when he put his foot down, Mill usually accepted his decisions. The lines between leader and led seemed strangely blurred for a young man who had been brought up to be role- and caste-conscious.  
  
Mill didn't have any such confusing thoughts. He shrugged out of his shirt as soon as Treize had loosened all the buttons, forgetting everything else in the moment. He didn't even hear Treize gasp in surprise and shock.  
  
Treize found that he had suddenly clenched his hands into fists so tight that his fingernails were digging into his palms. He also noticed, with a part of his mind that was not part of the rest of him, how quickly an all- consuming rage had built in his heart against the King. His best friend, the boy he thought with his own boyish mind that he loved more than anything, was sitting before him, shirtless, and his chest was… Treize tried to choke back his own tears of sympathy. Not all of the scars were old.  
  
"Treize?" Milliardo was still unconscious of his friend's distress. And then Treize understood… How bad it must be, how much Mill must want some semblance of normalcy. What was going on in the Peacecraft house? What of Milliardo's mother, who always doted on her son in private? How could she let this happen to him? No wonder Mill was always so willing to forget. What must it be like to remember all that? Treize couldn't even imagine. And so he made a split-second decision. Let it go for today, forget it for now, act as though he hadn't seen anything, hadn't learned anything he didn't already know. Later, he would go to his father and tell him, and then see where things went from there. For now, he would ignore the growing sickness and worry in his stomach, and concentrate, like he had promised, on Milliardo, and him, and everything that they meant to one another.  
  
He moved close again, brushing his lips across Milliardo's as his fingers ran swift and soft down his chest. Milliardo gasped at the new sensation, then reached up to twine his fingers in Treize's hair, pulling him closer, greedy for more.  
  
They did little more that morning and afternoon than kiss, and touch each other furtively, almost frightened of the waves of feelings such touches elicited. They spent a long time simply lying on the blanket together, watching the flickering of the candles. Then they would break the periods of silence with more kisses. So they spent their time.  
  
Breaking a passionate kiss, Treize looked back towards the entrance. The light he could see from outside had changed in quality, had become the deeper gold of afternoon. With a sigh, he levered himself away from Milliardo to a sitting position.  
  
"We'd better start back soon if you're going to be home in time for dinner," he said.  
  
Milliardo reached for him hurriedly, wrapping his long arms around Treize's waist, leaning his face up for another kiss.  
  
"No, Treize, forget it. It's not important, we can stay…"  
  
But Treize broke the embrace and stood up.  
  
"No, Mill, we've got to go. We can come back tomorrow, if you like, but I don't want to let you get in trouble again…" he stopped as Milliardo hung his head suddenly.  
  
"It doesn't matter," the small boy said in a soft voice that couldn't hide the fact that he was shaking. "No matter what I do, it's the same…" his voice died away suddenly.  
  
Treize knelt quickly before his friend, and took his face between his gentle hands. The day's explorations had yielded many discoveries for him, both disturbing as well as exciting. Milliardo's back, for example, was as bruised as his chest, and Treize had been exceedingly gentle after eliciting more than one gasp that had nothing to do with passion.  
  
"I know, Milliardo," he sighed, kissing the other boy on the forehead. "I know, but we must do our best to keep you out of trouble as much as possible. Being late would only make your father furious at you. You've got to stay out of his mind as much as possible, don't do anything to deliberately antagonize him…"  
  
"I tell you it doesn't matter!" Milliardo all but yelled, suddenly furious. "Nothing matters, no matter what I do, he hits me for doing it wrong, and it just doesn't matter any more! I'm just becoming numb to him, now…"  
  
Treize grabbed Milliardo's hand quickly, squeezing it almost painfully to his chest. "No, Milliardo, don't do that. If you go numb to pain, how long before you go numb to pleasure as well? Once you start, you won't be able to stop, and you won't be able to feel anything anymore, good or bad. Don't let him do that to you, please."  
  
Milliardo's eyes widened as Treize stared into them, willing him with every fiber of his being, though he was silent. Don't give up, don't give up, Milliardo, please, I love you…  
  
Milliardo was the first to look away. "We should go now," he breathed. And Treize knew that was all he was going to get out of him.  
  
They went as far as the meadow in silence. Then, with a cheeky sideways grin that made Treize's heart leap, Milliardo and his pony were off, galloping across the field as though on wings. The pony, sick of being tied up to a bush all day, had his own highjinks to work out of his system, and ran with much more energy than usual, kicking up his gray heels and sending clods of grass flying.  
  
"Milliardo," Treize called, exasperated, "didn't you learn anything from this morning?"  
  
"What?" called back the other boy, unhearing.  
  
"Oh, never mind," Treize sighed under his breath. He started his own horse sedately across the meadow, but then, there's nothing less fun than being the serious one, so soon he was chasing the gray pony across the field, running after the long-haired beauty who rode it with such ease.  
  
But the chase couldn't last long, as the shadows lengthened and the day came to a close. At the meadow's edge, Treize turned his mount down another path, the one that would take him to his home on the Kushrinada estate. Before he left, he rode his horse close to Milliardo, and leaned down for a goodbye kiss. Then, he turned and galloped away, down the densely wooded path. 


	4. 4

Treize looked at his father in shock, anger coloring his cheeks.  
  
"What? How can you say that? He's living with that. that monster, and you're just going to let things stand?"  
  
"Treize," Lord Kushrenada tried to placate his son, "I'm sorry for young Milliardo, really I am, but there's really nothing I can do."  
  
"Father," Treize tried one last bid for reason, "you can't imagine what it's like. I've seen him. when we go swimming." he had to pause before he let something slip. "These aren't just love taps he's given, they're leaving marks. Just today, he had a bruise on his head the size of a."  
  
"My boy," his father interjected smoothly, "I can't say what you've seen. But I can tell you what I've seen. Milliardo is a headstrong boy, prone to recklessness more than even most young men. Maybe Lord Peacecraft is merely taking his son in hand."  
  
"Taking him in hand? Father, he's beating him! Please listen to me!"  
  
Lord Kushrinada sighed, running one hand through his dark-red hair.  
  
"I am listening, son. But what would you have me do? Peacecraft is King here, and even though I have his favor and that of the rest of the court, I doubt that favor would extend to suggestions on child-rearing."  
  
"But surely you can do something!" Please, Father, please, I love him.  
  
"Oh, Treize. My dear, naïve son." Lord Kushrinada rose from behind his desk and crossed to where his son stood, dropping a heavy hand on his shoulder. Then he turned away, walking over to the large picture window, gesturing Treize to follow. When Treize crossed to his father's side, the Lord took a deep breath, and began to speak.  
  
"Treize, I have always worked to make sure that you were aware of how our country is run. Appointments by birth can cause many problems. I was not going to allow you to be one of them.  
  
"But always, always I have stressed allegiance to our monarch. By and large, the Peacecraft family has done a better job then the Council of Lords had a right to expect when they appointed the first Lord Peacecraft over a hundred years ago. This nation, as I'm sure you're aware, has the longest peace-keeping record of any in the world, largely in part to effective governing by the last four Peacecraft lords.  
  
"But as I mentioned, appointments by birthright often leads to sticky situations. I'm sure I don't know what the original Council was thinking when they wrote into the Charter that the first-born Peacecraft son would be heir. Hadn't they seen what troubles that policy caused in other countries throughout history? Perhaps they never thought the country would last long enough for their policy to be an issue.  
  
"Either way, none of us ever worried. There were three brothers in front of Xavier, after all. Three! And then all of them fell like dominoes, to disease, and accidents, and suicide.  
  
"And that's what brings us here. A powerless council trying to lead a brash, angry fool, trying to keep the country from the brink of war."  
  
Treize gasped. His father had always kept him abreast of the political situation, considering it one of the duties of a young lord to be aware of his countries' government. But. war? There had never been a war in Cinq, in all it's one-hundred-odd year history. He felt a cold wash of fear, uncertainty in the future like a darkness on the horizon. Lord Kushrinada glanced over at his son with a wry smile.  
  
"Yes, war. That bloody fool Peacecraft has let all the treaties of protection his ancestors made with our neighbors lapse into oblivion. Surely even you know that we have not been able to remain a pacifist nation on our own. Sometimes having powerful neighbors pledged to one's aid is as crucial as doctrine in keeping pacifism alive. When he let our treaties slip." he broke off, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "I don't really know whether the man is unbelievably stupid or cunningly suicidal. Sometimes I think it's a little of both."  
  
It came to Treize suddenly that what his father was saying was tantamount to treason. This was an amazing turn of events coming from his father, who was always so vocal in his support for the King. The idea of the King as a bumbling fool went contrary to the ideals Treize had imbibed with his baby food.  
  
"But. But Father, you've always said. I thought that you and Lord Peacecraft were friends!"  
  
His father sighed again, a habit that grew more often of late.  
  
"We were. We are. And something you must learn, my boy, is that sometimes the best way to help one's friends is to keep them from making fatal mistakes, no matter what the price."  
  
Treize was confused, but returned the real smile of his father, and allowed himself to be steered away from the windows.  
  
"Anyway, my boy, I don't want you to worry about the political situation here just yet. However, I've no doubt the Peacecraft nation will at least see much unrest by the time you come of age. Which is why I've made the decision to send you to Austria at the end of this month, both for your protection and education."  
  
Treize felt his jaw drop open. His father, heedless, talked on.  
  
"There's a very prestigious military school out there, St. Gabriel's Institution. My old childhood friend Paul went there, came back one of the best fighting men I've ever seen." He eyed Treize. "I want you to go there, son. Become the best fighter you can be. Cinq may need you someday.  
  
Treize felt the urge to stand up straighter. He saluted his father, half- jokingly, before turning towards the door. He was already halfway out when he realized he still had not gotten a definitive answer to his original question.  
  
"Father?" he said as he paused. "What about Milliardo?"  
  
His father looked up from the paper he had begun to read, and gave his son a sad smile.  
  
"I wouldn't worry about him too much, my boy. It will soon cease to matter."  
  
Treize left his father. As always after meeting with his father, , he felt a warm glow of peace and love. Safety. It was only later that night that he thought to puzzle over that cryptic parting remark. 


	5. Chapter 5

Title: The Art of Becoming Zechs Marquis, Chapter 5  
  
Author: Ryoko no Shinigami  
  
Rating: R Notes: Just a short part this time. I'm struggling to get the next part of the story going, since it's about this time when things get really depressing. I just want to give the young lovebirds a little more happy time (as far as that goes). In my timeline, this is as good as it gets for these two, and I'm loathe to start them on the long plunge down. But no matter. This is the last 'happy' chapter before things go south. And looking on what I've written, it's not really very happy at all. ***  
  
  
  
The next day found Treize and Milliardo back in the cave, sitting beside the stream with a small picnic basket. Milliardo seemed content to stare out at the bubbling water, but Treize was uncomfortable, trying to think of a tactful way to broach the subject of his meeting with his father. He cleared his throat, suddenly very nervous.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Milliardo, about your father."  
  
Milliardo didn't look at him, but a deep frown creased his brows. "Don't start, Treize, not now."  
  
"But."  
  
A small bit of Milliardo's mask crumbled, and he let his anger show. "Love of God, Treize, that man is my father! What am I supposed to do, say no, stop, you can't do this to me? Because he can, Treize, and he does, and there's nothing, nothing I can do! But you keep bringing it up! Why? Do you mean it to torture me?"  
  
The silence that followed was broken only by Milliardo's panting breaths as he sat with his head bowed. Treize knew what he had to say next wasn't going to be easy.  
  
"Milliardo, I. I told my father about you."  
  
Milliardo didn't move, didn't even look up at him. But suddenly his eyes snapped wide open under the fringe of his bangs, and every single muscle in his body was instantly drawn so tightly that his whole body quivered under the intense strain.  
  
"You. you what?" he finally managed to choke out.  
  
"I told my father. About what's been happening to you. About you father, how he. how he beats you." He glanced up and saw Milliardo looking at him, eyes wide in horror, and plunged on. "I had to, Milliardo, that's not a secret I could keep. I had to."  
  
Milliardo's voice was almost eerily calm. "And what. what did he say? Your father?"  
  
Now it was Treize's turn to be silent. He thought back over his meeting with his father, trying to find something appropriately comforting to say. "He. he said."  
  
He never got the chance to finish, as he was suddenly attacked by a churning mass of fury. Milliardo threw him back, and his head thumped hard on the sand. Milliardo was sitting on his stomach, attacking him, beating every part of him that he could reach with his fists as he ground out in rage.  
  
"You monster. you monster! I told you that you couldn't tell! I told you! He's my father, you can't do anything! No one can do anything! No one must ever know, never, never, never! No one can do anything! No one."  
  
And as suddenly as it had come, his rage vanished. He collapsed weakly on Treize's chest, his body wracked with helpless sobs. Treize lifted his head to look at him in confusion. The boy who had so savagely attacked him only moments ago now seemed to have no more strength than a kitten. Carefully, he levered himself up into a sitting position, cradling Milliardo in his lap. He ignored the stinging and the fact that he would probably have some bruises of his own next day. He supposed, in some perverse way, he deserved them, and they were fitting.  
  
"Ssh. Ssh, it's okay, it'll be okay."  
  
"N-no," Milliardo forced out, choking through his tears. "He can't ever know I told. If he finds out I told you, he'll."  
  
Treize's stomach turned at the thought. "He needn't think you told. Surely someone else must have noticed by now. Anyone could have seen it." Not to mention that I'm not sure my father's going to do anything about it at all, he thought. Now that he thought on it, his father had seemed. Not uncaring, but unwilling, perhaps unable to do anything. Treize had forgotten, so soothed had he been by the meeting with his father. Mayhap nothing would come of it at all.  
  
Milliardo had ceased crying, but he still shivered as though he were freezing cold. Treize pulled the blanket they had been sitting on from the ground, and wrapped it about himself and the precious burden in his arms.  
  
"Please calm yourself, Milliardo. Nothing may come of this. My father. My father is a cautious man. Maybe he won't say anything at all." It seemed like a stark betrayal to this beautiful boy, that he had broken his vow to keep his secret only to find one more person unwilling to aid him, but Milliardo nodded his head fervently.  
  
"I hope so. Oh, I hope so. It frightens me to think. what might become of me if he knew I told."  
  
Treize hugged him tighter, wishing he could drive away all the smaller boy's fears if he just held him close enough. Milliardo snuggled closer to the protective strength of his chest.  
  
"I'm sorry, Treize. I'm sorry I let my anger get a hold of me. I didn't mean to hurt you, I just. I don't ever want to lose you!"  
  
Treize squeezed him comfortingly. "You won't ever lose me, Mill. And I don't ever want to hurt you, either. Never. It just. It pains me to see you hurting." He struggled with the surge of painful emotion in his breast. "But when I think of him laying his hands on you."  
  
Milliardo winced and shuddered. "Don't." he moaned. "Please."  
  
Treize pressed his lips to the top of his gold head. "I know. I won't." He pulled away slightly. "We'd better get you home. This is the second day in a row you've been out this long. I wouldn't want you in trouble for being out too much."  
  
"I wouldn't want me in trouble, either." Milliardo disengaged himself and began to gather up the picnic things. Treize took it as a mark of how upset he was that he made no protest at returning at such an early hour. Trying to fight back tears of his own, he helped the younger boy gather the things. 


End file.
